


Clara/ 12th Doctor Drabbles

by Pearlislove



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 2 + 1, AUs, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pet Store, Comforting cuddles, Dark, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, christmas party au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-13
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-18 10:27:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10615014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlislove/pseuds/Pearlislove
Summary: Short drabbles/stories with The Twelfth Doctor and Clara. Generally shippy but just friendship as well.





	1. Flower shop AU

**Author's Note:**

> Went on a vacation to England with my family. 4h of flying and a day trip to Wales Iater I got 5 Clara/12 drabbles written. Here's the first 1.
> 
> If u like it, please comment and click subscribe for updates

**Flower Shop AU**   
  
  
Switching the 'closed' sign to open, Clara returned to her place behind the desk and waited for the first customer of the day.   
  
As it turned out, that first customer was a fifty year old scots man that looked like he swallowed a lemon hole. Clara recognised him as 'The Doctor', a standard customer who had a habit of popping by for a new plant on an almost weekly basis. She truly didn't know why he kept coming back though, as by this point he either had more plants than any regular male she'd ever encountered or he really sucked at keeping them alive.   
  
Seeing him pick out two tiny pots with cacti and take them to the til, Clara couldn’t help but finally comment on his behaviour. "You know, I've been counting, and either you're a grumpy Scottish man with thirty plus plants at home, or you really can't keep  them alive." She hired an eyebrow, smiling viciously at his confused expression. "Spill the beans, you old lass."   
  
"First of all, I ain't no lass, lassie." To Clara’s great surprise, 'The Doctor' gave her a big smile. It was beautiful, cocky and flirtatious and Clara was quite sure had she not been leaning on the desk she would have fainted dead at the spot. "But I don't actually have any at home. They're gifts. My brother's granddaughter came up with this ridiculous idea for us all to give each other plants every time we meet. Considering we're twelve brothers and a sister, we really ought have though it true better, but we're too scared not to."   
  
At this, Clara couldn’t help but laugh."Kids, what do you do? Bet she used Puppy dog eyes."   
  
The Doctor laughed as well, a deep chuckle, and Clara found it even better than his smile. "You say 'of course Susan' and 'anything for you Susan' and pray she'll look away. She really is a sweetheart, though, and none of us will deny her anything." His smile was smittened, filled with love and adoration for his brother's girl.   
  
"Even if it means buying a shit ton of flowers." Clara supplied, still highly amused.   
  
"Even if it means buying a shit ton of flowers."The Doctor replied, all too happy as he paid for the cacti, handing Clara even money and quickly bid his goodbyes. "Now if you excuse me, I got a brother and a granddaughter waiting for their cacti." And with that, the odd man was off, happily leaving the shop.   
  
From her work bench, Clara watched her go, smiling all along and thinking that working in a Flower Shop was one of the best thing there were.


	2. Christmas Party AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 Here! Christmas Party AU this time! Enjoy!

** Christmas Party AU **

 

Really, Clara thought as she desperately tried to make her way through the crowd to the hopefully less crowded kitchen, it was not her fault how things had turned out in the end. Her father has insisted they have their Christmas celebrations at Linda's, this year, hoping perhaps it would make Clara like her a little more.    
  
It hadn’t. Instead, it had only caused Clara to walk in on someone else's Christmas celebration, thinking it was Linda's address and not recognizing her mistake until it was too late.   
  
Clara had never actually been to Linda's place before, and though she had been surprised at the sheer amount of people as she stepped in through the door, she clearly remembered her father mentioning she might invite some friends from work, and figured it had been a clever lie to disguise the fact that he wanted to introduce his supposed daughter to Linda's friends.   
  
Things had quickly taken a turn towards the weird side, though, as people, a surprising amount of which were dressed in our right ridiculous clothes, started saying hi and waving their hands at her like old friends.   
  
Even though she didn’t know them. Not one.   
  
Finally, Clara decided to check the address with someone. She caught a young man dressed in a Scottish kilt by the sleeve, asking him, but his Scottish accent turned out to be so thick that there was no idea to try and listen to the reply, as there was no way she could understand it. Thankfully, it seemed it was not the first time the man had had said issue, and he quickly called upon a young girl dressed in a fuchsia coloured victorian party dress, who apparently was his daughter. 

 

The girl made excuses for her father and happily explained she was on an address two houses off, before wishing her a happy evening and continuing on her way, her father following close behind.   
  
Upon realising this, Clara's first instinct had been to run. To plummet through the crowd and out the door and leave this weird party and all its weird people behind and go to Linda's party instead. However, just a she was about to try and navigate back to the door, her phone pinged, and when she pulled it up there was a text from Linda.   
  
[Great annoyance] 6:00 PM   
  
Where are you you ungrateful little complain? Me and your father is waiting. I will not be ridiculed in front of my friends because of your stupid immature attitude.   
  
Seeing the text, Clara felt her mind go dark. Suppressing an irritated sigh, she left the text unanswered and quickly returned the phone to her pocket, looking ahead of her and deciding that she might, out of sheer will to be annoying, stay a bit longer. It wasn’t as though anyone seemed to realise she was in the wrong place, anyway.   
  
And so, with her mind made up, Clara waved through the crowd to the kitchen. It was hard, because the room was more crowded than what was probably recommended and most inhabitant was at least a head of two taller than Clara, but finally she manage to press through the door to the kitchens.   
  
The kitchens were a small, cramped space located at the back of the house, and subconsciously Clara half expected it to be absolutely packed to the brim with people, too.    
  
It wasn’t. As Clara entered, she discovered that the only persons inside was a gray-haired man in his fifties sitting on the table and sipping a bear. He was tall, spider like limbs hanging off the edges of the small table, and he had the most impressive glare Clara had ever seen, which was currently focused on the colourful tiles decorating the wall underneath the kitchen cabinets opposite him.   
  
Approaching the stove, which was overflowing with beverage choices ranging from an unopened bottle of coke to an almost empty bottle of vodka, she glanced shyly at the man. "Hi." She said, a bit wary as he continued to glare on the wall. "I'm Clara. Oswald."   
  
"John. John Smith, like every other bloody male in this family." He gruffed, his glare subsiding as he looked at her instead. "Who of dragged your sorry ass here? Matt? Thought he'd bring that wife of his." He furrowed his brows, and Clara could feel her chest constricting as he spoke, fear gathering in the pit of her stomach.    
  


"No one." She admitted finally, trying to play it as nonchalant as possible. "I'm really not supposed to be here, was meant to be at my dad's girlfriend's party two doors down, but she's a bitch and now I'm staying here out of spite." She bit her lip hard, hoping he would not get angry. She really did not want that deadly glare of his directed at herself.    
  
To her great surprise and relief, the man laughed. "Well, I guess I should welcome you, then? Welcome to the Smith household, the place where all your sanity goes bye bye." He is grinning and looking slightly mad as his grumpy, wrinkled face lit up in amusement.    
  
Clara smiled back, softer and more understanding, as she grabbed a random beer and sat down on the table next to John. "I'm sure it's not that bad. What I don’t get, though, is why everyone said hi to me? They acted as though they knew me. Even the guy with the kilt and the girl in the red dress both seemed real confused when I asked what address it was. As though they didn’t get why I'd thought I should be anywhere else."    
  
"Jamie and Victoria." John said. "My lovely gay brother's lovely gay husband and their little adopted daughter. Lovely people." His voice dripped with sarcasm, and Clara found it quite ironic as he himself had a rather thick Scottish accent.    
  
"Isn't there some code of honour that prevents Scotts from insulting other Scotts?" Clara laughed, saying it out loud for no other reason than to hear John give her his witty reply.   
  
She was definitely not disappointed as he frowned even more, shaking his head in disbelief. "I'm not that kind of Scottish. He wears kilt and speaks gibberish and Gaelic and speak of Scotland’s prospects of becoming independent as though it is the only thing that makes sense on this Earth." He said firmly, shuddering as though uncomfortable. "I'll never be that kind of Scottish."   
  
"I don’t see a difference in Scottsmen." Clara replied, feeling rather mischievous. "They're all the same."   
  
"Well we're three here at this party, so take a pick. Either way, the reason everyone says hi is because we're too many for anyone to know a difference. Twelve brothers, one sister, most of us bring somewhere between one and three guests. We easily surpass twenty four, probably closer to sixty." He deadpanned, and Clara gapped. Sixty people! No wonder they couldn't tell a stranger snuck into the house!   
  
Finally gathering her wits, Clara prepared a new question."And who, if I might ask, are you here with?" Her voice was sugar sweet and her smile completely innocent.    
  
John shrugged. "No one. Kind of boring, but I don’t really care. I was actually about to go when I finished my beer." He held up the half empty beer, giving her a small smile.   
  
Clara nodded, holding up her own beer to toast. "You should come with me to my party. My dad and Linda will faint dead if they see you coming there with me." She shrugged her shoulders, trying to brush off the suggestion as she realised how weird it probably sounded. "It'd be fun."    
  
John smiled, and Clara could see a dangerous glint appearing in his eyes as though he just thought of something wicked. "So I'd pretend to be your boyfriend, and we'd scandalize your dad and his bitchy girlfriend just for the heck of it, yes?"    
  
"Yeah" Clara smiled, jumping off the table and heading towards the door. "You coming?" She smiled, stretching out her hand towards him.   
  
"Yeah. Might be fun." He answered, leaving the table and grabbing her hand. "Let’s go scandalize some annoying parents."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. 2 + 1: 2 times Clara's hair was on fire, and 1 time it wasn’t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 times The Doctor put Clara’s hair on fire, and 1 time he didn’t

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mom saw me writing Coara/12 and requested I write about the doctor putting Clara's hair on fire. In a 5 + 1 format - she relinquished and let me do just 2+ 1 instead as I said 5 + 1 took too much time.

** 1   
** "Clara, duck!" The moment the rough Scottish voice cut through the noise of the battlefield, Clara threw herself head first down upon the ground, pressing her cheek against the dirt. Above her, she heard the sizzling sound of a laser cutting through the air, and she thanked whatever god there was for The Doctor’s warning.   
  
For another few moments, she remained firmly planted against the ground, her abdomen pushed deep into the mud. She did not dare to move from her position until finally, a pair of familiar legs in black trousers came into view, and a hand with spidery fingers was offered.   
  
"You really should listen better when I tell you to duck, Clara." The Doctor told her, voice clipped and irritated as he grabbed her hand and hoisted her off the ground, planting her firmly on her feet.   
  
"I did!" Clara complained, snatching her hand back to rub at her neck, which was starting to feel uncomfortably hot.   
  
"No." The Doctor deadpanned. "Your hair's on fire."   
  
** 2   
**   
"Doctor. What are you doing?" Clara gapped, trying to keep her disbelief out of her voice as she entered the kitchen.    
  
The Doctor, who normally would not set foot in the cramped space besides when he followed after Clara so that he could watch her tend to one of her 'inefficient' human needs, was currently cooking.   
  
"Breakfast, Clara, breakfast!" The Doctor smiled at her, one of those rare manic grins that seemed to be the only proof that there was still some of that silly fool he'd been before left in him.   
  
Shaking her head and deciding that she was too tired to question anymore, Clara slowly made her way over to one of the chairs at the kitchen table, gingerly sitting down. Once seated at the table, she turned to the left and gingerly watched as The Doctor, who'd dressed up in a multicoloured, patch-work patterned apron, set about making 'breakfast'.   
  
First, he spooned some kind of batter into a bottle, from which he then squirted it into the pan. Once in the pan, he let it simmer.   
  
"Doctor?" Clara asked, unafraid to disturb as he seemed to be waiting for the liquid to cook.  "Is that apron made from one of your old cloaks?" Vaguely, Clara thought she recognised the pattern of the apron from a cloak he'd worn in a picture she'd seen of him and an petite ginger.    
  
Suddenly busying himself with shaking the pan and apparently poking around in the liquid within, The Doctor nodded absentmindedly. "Yes, that's quite right Clara. Had it in my sixth incarnation, didn't end well, thought it'd make less harm as an appran." Suddenly, he pulled out a blow torch, and Clara leaned back in her chair out of pure instinct as he put it on and held it over the liquid in the pan.   
  
"Doctor, what are you making?" Clara knew she shouldn’t ask. She really, really did. But as the liquid in the pan caught fire with a loud 'foff'; She couldn’t help herself.   
  
"Fire pancakes, Clara. I told you about them just last week." He glanced at her over his shoulder as he poked around in the burning liquid, and Clara could have sworn he was disappointed.    
  
"I don’t remember everything you told me last week! Doctor, I've corrected twenty-two essays on Shakespeare since. Twenty-two." She almost didn’t want to dignify him with an answer. She knew The Doctor was little less sensitive to those around him this go around, but this really took the price.   
  
"Of course you can't. You're a pudding brain. Your brains are made of pudding. Makes it terribly hard to think, and you can't remember things I told you just a week ago even though..." Whatever The Doctor had been supposed to say, the sentence was never finished, as the TARDIS started shaking uncontrollably and both The Doctor were sent flying across the room.   
  
As she landed upon the floor, Clara felt something warm and sticky covering her head, spreading out and dripping down her face as she lay unmoving on the ground. "Doctor, please tell me that pancake is still in the pan." She asked, carefully trying to keep her voice measured.    
  
"Only about half of it." Soon came the equally measured reply. "And I think your hair's on fire."   
  
**** 3

"Clara duck!" The Scottish brogue cut through the cacophony of noise surrounding the battlefield, and Clara barely had time to feel the unsettling deja vu feeling settle in her gut as a heavy body collided with hers, mercilessly forcing her to the ground.   
  
Landing on top of her own was the skinny, long limbed body of The Doctor, his arms and legs curling around Clara in an attempt to protect her as laser beams passed through the air above them.   
  
As a shot passed particularly close, Clara found herself burying her face in the chest of the man protecting her, instinct and fear taking over as she sought out the sensation of safety it offered. Moments later, the peace was broken as another close shot passed by them, and suddenly Clara could feel the soft dirt underneath her give in, both her and The Doctor dragged along as the ground they'd been pushed against rolled down the hill.   
  
Spinning one lap after another down the steep hill, Clara held on to The Doctor as tight as she possibly could, terrified to let go and get hurt because of it. As she held on until her knuckles turned white, she could feel the Doctor’s spidery arms holding her tight as well, encasing her and reassuring her that they were going to make it by as they helplessly continued falling down the hill.   
  
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they came to a stop. Clara, who'd closed her eyes as she passed by several moderately sized rocks on their way down the hill, opened them again carefully, and was surprised to see that she was lying alone upon the ground.    
  
The Doctor, a little dirtied and tousled from the roll, was standing beside her, upon seeing her conscious offering her a hand and putting her back on her feet.   
  
"Your hair is not on fire." He smiled.   
**   
**


	4. Pet shop AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pet shop au bout The Doctor, Clara a hamster dubbleganger. Enjoy.

**Pet Shop AU**

 

Clara was lying down with her upper body resting on the smooth glass of the counter, almost falling asleep to the background sound of the animals in the store chattering. Clara really did not like working with animals, but a job was a job, and she accepted anything that'd give her a paycheck at the end of the month.  
  
She is just about to doze off for real, when she hears the bell in the door chiming, and suddenly she is sitting up straight in her chair again.   
  
"Welcome to the shop!" She says, a little too loud and enthusiastic, and she wince at the sound. "What can I help you with?"   
  
"I need a hamster." The man that just entered tells her, his voice gravelly and very very Scottish as he approach the counter; digging in the pockets of his worn out black jacket. He got unkept silver gray hair and deep lines by his eyes and between his quite expressive eyebrows, and Clara can tell he's the kind of man people normally moved away from on the buss out of pure instinct.   
  
She smiled politely, watching as the man continued to struggle with his pocket. "What sort of hamster? How many? We got several kinds."   
  
The man only grunted in response to the inquiry, pulling up a bag full of Jelly babies on the counter and muttering something that sounds almost like 'help yourself', before finally fishing a battered old Iphone from his pocket as well.  
  
"I need a hamster that look like this." He pulls up a picture on the phone, showing Clara  a blond haired girl of perhaps fifteen, smiling happily and cuddling a small ginger hamster.   
  
Somehow, Clara couldn’t help but feel a bit uncomfortable with the thought of the poor little  girl loosing a clearly beloved pet - and the poor hamster dying of course. "What happened to it?" She asked, taking the phone in her hand and trying to recall if they had any hamster that looked like it.   
  
"It died. By itself." The man grumbled, sending her a glare that she gladly recuperated as they made their way to the hamster cage. "None of the other shops in town had any like it."   
  
"And you refuse telling a fifteen year old her hamster died?" Clara rebuked, opening the cage as she caught sight of the hamster she'd been thinking of.   
  
"Sixteen and a half. She's a bit sensitive on the death side of things and...I'd rather not her having a fit." His voice wasn’t as gruff now, his whole demeanor a lot more subdued, and somehow Clara sensed there was a story. "Her hamster is her comfort. Had it since she was thirteen."   
  
"And she really would feel better to continue having it, understandable. How does this one look like?" She picked up the little furry orange ball, and quite unceremoniously dropped it in his hands.   
  
The older man looked at it, examining it thoroughly. "Yes, yes, this should be fine." He said, going off and walking back to the cash register.  "Looks just like the one Jenny's dad bought for her. She's my niece, you see." The last part he says a little too loud, and Clara can tell it's aimed at her.   
  
As she came to the register and started typing up the price for him to pay, he spoke again, thoughtfully stroking the fur of the little hamster he had chosen. "Jenny lost her dad, my brother, almost two years ago. The hamster is all she got left, and she really doesn't deserve to lose that." His face was soft, now, vulnerability clear in his eyes as he thought of the not so little girl he cared for.   
  
"I'm sorry. I'm sure that hamster will make her very happy. " Clara said, stretching out and putting her hand on his. She never really knew why people got pets, why a dog or a cat or a fish or maybe, just maybe, even a hamster could be so important. She never understood,until today.   
  
The man before her looked at the hamster with as much love as he would his niece, and she could see that this was his way of protecting her. He could not keep the pain of losing her dad away from her, not ever, but he could do this and it was enough.   
  
"Thanks." The man smiles, for the first time, bug and compassionate, hugging the little hamster tight. "Welcome to the family, TARDIS 2"   
  



	5. Hugs and comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightterrors, hugs and comfort. Not specifically shippy, more like friends with cuddles.

"Doctor, are you okay?" Clara tried to keep the worry out of her voice, but The Doctor has been hugging her nonstop for close to three minutes now - the only way she'd know was that she  was staring straight at her alarm clock as she held him - and as far as she knew this him didn’t even like hugs. "I love to hug you and we can hug more later, but now I really need to know if you are okay."   
  
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, The Doctor loosened his grip of Clara. Sitting back on her bed, he moved away from her body and allowed her some space. He was still saying nothing, hadn't spoke since he came rushing into her room screaming an unfamiliar name that was definitely not hers at three in the morning. Once he'd catched sight of her, he'd latched onto her, refusing to let go.   
  
He started definitely into her mattress, and she allowed him to take his time, knowing he - hopefully - would explain eventually.   
  
Finally, he sigh. "I had a nightmare. Or a dream. A flashback. I...I couldn't tell." His voice is low; small and vulnerable compared to his normal egotistic blabbering.   
  
Clara frowned, carefully crawling closer to him and putting one hand on his shoulder, trying to ignore the way he flinched at the contact, while she settled next to him on top the covers.   
  
"What was it about?" She says, kind but not sympathetic, knowing how much The Doctor feared pitying. If he thought people pitied him, he would never tell Clara anything ever again.   
  
"It was...my granddaughter. I saved her, from monsters." He stopped abruptly, his jaw muscles still working as he tried to produce more words, but nothing came.   
  
Discreetly, Clara slipped an arm around his waist, leaning into him. As she put her head on his chest, breathing a tiny sigh as she felt him relaxing slightly against her, she could hear how fast his hearts were beating. It was clear that the nightmare stressed him, and she hoped she could help him move past it.   
  
"Susan?" She asked, remembering the name he screamed as he appeared. "That her?"   
  
He nodded, slowly, and Clara was about to say she bet he was great grandpa, but stopped herself as he spoke up instead. "I protected her, but in my dream, I failed. So many monsters and such an innocent girl. I'd do anything for her, Clara, anything." Suddenly, The Doctor is hugging her back, squeezing her hard as if hoping it would help him chase away his demons. He looked like he wanted to say more, but again, his voice refused to cooperate, and as she could see him working himself into a frenzy, she quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it.   
  
"It’s alright Doctor. She is safe now. You saved her." Clara doesn’t have credibility for her words, but recognise that it's not what The Doctor wants. He want comfort, want sweet words and conviction that he did not fail someone he loved. Clara wanted to give him that. "She will always love you,her grandfather, and trust you. Because you save her."   
  
He looks up, smiles at Clara - it seems genuine but he's good at faking them - and tope her in for a proper hug again. "She reminds me of you. Brown haired and brown eyed. Silly. I guess that's why I came here. Thank you for just...for putting up with me." There’s a tremor to his voice, and Clara determinedly holds him closer to her.    
  
"I'll always put up with you. And that's a promise." Clara ensures, relaxing against him. There was still so many things, she knew, that The Doctor had not and could not tell her, and she was okay with that. She was okay with it, because she loved him all the same, and though nights like these were hard she held on.    
  
It was her promise, after all.   



	6. 8 touches each day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU + Sort of Coffee shop AU

"You know, it says here a person needs 8 positive touches each day to be healthy." Clara said, reading from the psychology magazine her dad's girlfriend had borrowed her. Linda was some sort of psychologist of psychotherapist, and thought Clara could do with a little more 'information on interesting and important subjects'. Clara hadn’t really said anything, she'd just taken it and said thank you; faking politeness for the sake of her dad.   
  
"People touch every day?" It’s a deep, raspy Scottish voice that reply, and Clara feels herself freezing, a bit shocked by the sudden reply. She hadn’t been reading it for anyone in particular, more to herself, but as she looked up she saw an older Scottish man sitting at the counter looking at her.    
  
Closing her magazine and placing it under her arm, she gave him a subtle nod as she went down to stand at the other side of the counter from him. "Yes, people does. Don’t you?" Just to demonstrate, she stretched out her hand, trying to place it ontop of his.   
  
Flinching, the man quickly retracted his hand before Clara could touch it. "I don't like being touched. In fact, I am happier when I am not touched. Nothing unhealthy about, just happy to avoid all that unnecessary contact " He kept his hand near his chest, his other hand cupped around it and acting as though he was trying to protect it from harm.    
  
Smiling playfully, Clara leaned forward and put her hand on top of both of his, giving him an amused look."Well, maybe if you came in here and let me hold your hand eight time a day, you'd find it's not that bad." The Scotsman said nothing, just looked at her, shocked and perhaps slightly uncomfortable.    
  
Slowly, she removed his hands from his chest and pulled them towards her, finally placing them too her own chest. "I'm Clara." She said swiftly, flashing him another smile. Considering he was at least fifty years old, he was quite striking in his velvet lined suit and stylishly messy silver coloured hair. "Is this uncomfortable?"   
  
To her surprise, the man gave her a small smile in response. "John." Obviously feeling a little bit bold, he pulled back his hand to his chest, pulling Clara's one hand with him and trapping it against his chest. "And no, in fact, I think I could get used to this eight times a day. You?"   
  
She smiled strikingly, smug and maybe slightly suggestive as she gave him the toothiest, most genuinely happy smile she had. "No." She said, slowly, deliberately. "I could get used to this that often, too."   
  



	7. Strangers and kids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Moder day Au + grocery store AU woth Clara, Twelve and a screaming child

For the third time since she came to the vegetable section, Clara glanced over at the older man standing by the cucumbers. He had arrived shortly after Clara, a baby that was already red in the face from screaming their head off in one arm, and it hadn't shut up since.   
  
Annoyed and irritated by the loud noise, she watched the poor man attempting for probably the fifth time to calm down the child. But like clockwork, the baby was only quite for maybe a second, possibly less, before it started crying again. And this time, Clara was fed up with it.   
  
Promptly abandoning her own shopping cart and stomping her way over to the man. Once there, she waited until he noticed her and stuck her purse under his nose.   
  
"What are you doing?" The man asked, speaking in a rough Scottish accent and looking at the handbag as though it would grow tentacles.   
  
"Let's do a switch. Hold my handbag and I'll get your kid to shut up and stop bothering people who only wants to do their shopping." Clara rebutted, quick and unafraid.   
  
"Deal" The man didn't even ponder the offer for a moment, grabbing the blue purse with one hand while handing her the crying two year old with the other. "Her name's Jenny and I really can't get her to be quite."   
  
"Well, I'm Clara, and I'll calm you down by informing that most small childs are quite bitchy when separated from their mother. Doesn't mean she doesn't love you though." Clara explained as she continued to bump the child, smiling as it finally seemed to start to calm down. Long live the power of being a babysitter, Clara thought.   
  
"I'm Basil, and she's not mine. She's my brother's but his babysitter pulled out." Basil sigh, dragging a hand over his face out of tiredness and frustration. They day hadn't gone to plan on any level and he was tired.    
  
Yet at the same time he couldn’t help but be thankful for this extremely kind stranger, who had swooped in and saved him by offering to calm down the child. Glancing over at the woman - Clara, she'd called herself - he could feel his cheeks heating slightly. She was petite and extremely cute with brown hair and equally brown eyes. Watching her standing there, holding a little baby girl in her arms and pretending to steal her nose to make her laugh, he was certain he could imagine marrying her one day.    
  
He was certain that this bossy brown haired angel was his soulmate, for no one else had ever made him feel like she did as she played with his niece.   
  
"John?" Clara's voice cut through his daydreaming and he looked up, smiling at her and nodding as if to say that he was listening - which he was. Now. "How would you like if we did the rest of our shopping together? I could help you keep little Jenny calm." Clara suggested, seemingly almost embarrassed by her own words. There was a faint blush on her cheeks, and he wondered, if she had felt it too, the connection between them.   
  
Smiling his biggest, friendliest smile, he gave her the only possible answer he could give. "I'd love to."   
  
  



End file.
